


nightmares and strange-dreams

by OceanMyth



Series: Ocean's ATLA Drabbles, Oneshots, and Ficlets [18]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: (except it's a monk and his ward), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Nightmares, baby!Aang, father-son bonding, fluff?, reincarnation is wild, seriously still can't tell if this is fluff, this one's a weird one to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:41:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27788419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanMyth/pseuds/OceanMyth
Summary: Aang has a nightmare, and Gyatso takes his mind off it by telling him a story about an old friend.
Relationships: Aang & Gyatso (Avatar), Gyatso & Roku (Avatar)
Series: Ocean's ATLA Drabbles, Oneshots, and Ficlets [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2113209
Comments: 12
Kudos: 32





	nightmares and strange-dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cseloid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cseloid/gifts).



The world is dark, and Aang is cold. There are twinkling green lights around him, sparkling far off in the distance, blinking and winking slyly. Tiny green emerald stars, caught up in the icy black—but if he looks at them for too long they send a chill down his spine, and then they aren’t stars anymore but _eyes_ , and Aang gasps for air.

The darkness presses against him, a crushing feeling like he’s been buried under stone— it’s too cold for stone though, so maybe ice? The cold seeps into his pores, and then it feels like it’s settling into his very bones, like he’s being frozen alive. He opens his mouth to scream but Aang can’t move and he can’t breath and he still can’t get any _air—_

There is a girl laughing, somewhere out there in the darkness. Her voice echoes, breaking in his ears like glass. It’s high and cruel, feels like sharp nails dragging down his spine, lightly pressing and never breaking the skin. Like she’s toying with him and could flay him open, straight down to the bone with ease. 

Aang can’t see the girl who owns the voice, no matter how he twists and turns and now his heart is pounding in his chest like a cornered rabaroo and his breath is coming quick and fast but there isn’t any air to breath— 

His back _burns_.

Aang wakes up in a flash of bright white light. Pain radiates from his lower back, scorching and more intense than anything he’s felt in his six years of life. More intense than even the time one of the other boys had accidentally pushed him out of a tree, and he’d broken his arm. Aang gasps and writhes, and barely avoids screaming. He doesn’t want to wake anyone else up again.

But then pain is gone as suddenly as it started, and all that’s left is the dark room. The drum of the rain outside does little to mask the rolling thunder that shakes the temple. His stomach rolls with the thunder, and the pain has left him more than a little nauseous. Aang draws his knees up tight to his chest, and his arms are shaking as he hugs them tight.

Despite all the noise, he can still hear the sound of his own sniffling, as he tries to calm the pounding in his chest. He hadn’t noticed that he was crying, but then the fear and terror presses into him again, and now he can’t stop. He swipes at the tears with his shaking hands, but it’s futile— he’s crying too hard for it to matter.

Sobbing and hiccuping, Aang stumbles to his feet.

Only to fall onto the floor, when fighting free of the sheets that had knotted around him while he’d flailed in pain. After tumbling to the floor he waits a second, trying to stop the flow of tears, so that he can see what he’s doing. He wipes the tears from his eyes with the back of his wrist, and pushes through the door into the hallway.

He needs Gyatso. 

He needs Gyatso _right now._

When he leaves, Aang doesn’t bother closing the door to his dormitory behind him.

The hallway is long and dark, and the heavy pounding of rain surrounds Aang on all sides. The tile is cold and just a little damp from the humidity, and the soles of his feet stick to it as he tiptoes down the hallway.

Thunder cracks and rumbles overhead, and Aang flinches every time lightning flickers. The memory of light and pain from his dream hasn’t gone away yet, and halfway down the hall Aang breaks into a sprint.

He runs as fast as he can, past the tall arched windows empty of any glass, the tall windows that have never bothered him once in his very short life, the tall windows he now hides from when the white lightning streaks across the sky.

At the end of the hallway, Monk Gyatso’s door is cracked invitingly, quiet laughter and a single stripe of warm golden light beckoning Aang on. He isn’t able to come to a complete stop before sliding into the door, and the door swings open as he falls on his butt.

The door thuds against the wall. 

Inside Gyatso’s quarters, the game of Pai Sho comes to a halt. Aang blinks in the bright light spilling from the room, and stumbles to his feet again, launching himself at Gyatso’s legs. The tile falls from Gyatso’s hand, hitting against the table with a clatter, and there’s a warm hand rubbing his shoulder. Aang feels tears in his eyes again, and tries to dash them away with his wrist before anyone sees.

“Aang?” Gyatso asks, and Aang buries his face further into the fabric of Gyatso’s robes. There’s some concerned murmuring from the other monks in the room—Aang can’t make out their words, or distinguish between their voices, the fabric muffles everything too much— and then he is being lifted up into Gyatso’s arms.

“Aang, are you alright?” Aang lifts his face from where he’s buried it in the shoulder of Gyatso’s robe, and mutely shakes his head. Gyatso rubs his back and tries again. “What’s wrong?”

A thunderclap splits the air, and Aang’s grip on Gyatso’s robe tightens.

“Is it the storm?” asks Gyatso softly, as he continues to rub Aang’s back.

It’s not the storm, not really, but it’s as good a reason as any and Aang doesn’t want to explain the nightmare. So he nods, and tries to steady his breathing out, attempting to match each breath to the movement of Gyatso’s hand on his back.

“Not very talkative, is he?” asks one of the other monks in the room. Aang winces, and Gyatso sighs, adjusting Aang in his arms.

“Not when he’s upset, no, which is understandable. Now, if you’ll excuse me everyone, I have a wayward charge to return to bed.” Gyatso stands up and Aang buries his head against his mentor's neck, counting his breaths. He’s stopped crying, but he’s still shaking.

The trip back down the hallway is much shorter than the first time.

Gyatso had taken a candle with them, and the light turns the rain outside to drops of gold against the darkness. Gyatso’s feet are bare, like Aang’s, so there is very little sound in the hallway aside from the ever-present drumming drone of the rain. 

Aang’s glad that Gyatso hadn’t bothered to put him down for the walk back to his room. His teacher’s heartbeat is comforting, especially when another bolt of lightning crackles across the sky outside.

Gyatso sets Aang down on his bed, and then bends down to pick up the tangled sheets from the floor. He raises an eyebrow while shaking them straight.

“Nightmares again, Aang?” he asks gently. Aang shrinks in on himself and nods. 

“I’ll leave the candle then.” Aang hums gratefully. Gyatso tucks the sheets around him again, and turns to leave, so Aang reaches out and catches Gyatso’s sleeve.

“Don’t go, please.” 

It’s the first thing that Aang has said out loud all night, and he bites his lip, not sure that Gyatso even heard him, but not wanting to repeat himself. He relaxes when Gyatso sits down in the chair near the bed instead of continuing out the door.

“ ‘m sorry that I can’t sleep, Gyatso,” Aang says. Because he is, because it’s not fair to Gyatso that he keeps asking him to stay. He’s six, not a baby, he should be better than this. “It jus’ _hurts_ ,” he mumbles, the words feeling thick in his throat. The tears threaten to make a comeback, so Aang quickly sniffs them away.

“It’s not your fault, Aang. We can’t control what our minds choose to show us at night. All we can do is reach out to the people we love. They will _always_ be willing to help, if we are just brave enough to ask.” Gyatso pauses, and Aang picks at his sheets. There’s a thread coming loose, and he pokes at it, trying to put it back into the weave.

There’s a heartbeat of silence between them.

  
  
“Well...since _you_ can’t sleep, and _I’m_ here to stay for a while...why don’t I tell you a story?” Aang looks up in surprise.

“Yes please!” Aang says, perhaps just a little too quickly. Gyatso’s stories are _the best._ Aang folds his hands on his chest, and tries to look attentive, but it probably looks a little weird, because Gyatso laughs.

“Now,” Gyatso hums and taps his chin. “Which story to tell?” he pauses, and Aang is about to request his favorite story, when Gyatso starts talking again. 

“Ahh...I know which story is best for tonight.” Thunder rumbles outside. “It involves a storm, just like this one, and a pair of foolish young airbenders.” Aang sucks in a big breath of air, and settles in, bright eyed and smiling for the first time since his nightmare, to listen.

“This is no ordinary story, Aang,” Gyatso starts solemnly. “I can promise to you that every word I tell you will be true. There will be no exaggerations, no distortions of a truth lost to time, none of the ambiguity. After all, this story isn’t quite a story, but something that happened to me and one of my closest friends.” Aang gasps quietly. Gyatso doesn’t tell stories about himself often— his stories mostly take place thousands of years before Aang was even born.

“Before I start, I suppose I should tell you a little about Roku— he’s the friend that accompanied me on this adventure, and much of the story won’t make sense unless I tell you about him.”

“Roku and I met when I was fifteen. He was two years older than me, but he wasn’t a particularly good airbender yet, so it had been decided that he would be taught alongside us, instead of his peers. Roku took it well, but then he was easy-going. With an excellent sense of humor too— if you managed to get it out from behind his shell. We became friends quickly, after an embarrassing incident where we got locked in the bison stables together.” 

There’s something unusual about the situation with Gyatso’s friend, but Aang can’t quite put his finger on it, and Gyatso moves on before he can figure it out.

“This story begins on a very clear day. All the students had been told that there was a storm coming though, and the older monks and masters had told us to help prepare, locking down the stables, and securing windows. Roku and I finished with our tasks early— he was taller, but I’d been helping out around the temple for longer, so we were an evenly matched, efficient pair.”

“We were finished with all of our chores, but there wasn’t anything else to do. So Roku came up with an idea— we could go glider-racing, and be back before anyone else finished. Nobody would know. And, young and foolish as I was, I agreed.”

“Things were fine, as we snuck our gliders out of our dormitories, and got down to the cliffside. Things were fine, and the winds were good, and we barely had to bend to pick up speed. Things were fine— we stayed low, weaving among the valleys, so close that we could almost touch the grass, and nobody spotted us, as we made our escape. Barely any time had passed at all before we were out of sight of the temple, and could finally rise up into the clouds.”

“The storm came on quickly, threatening cumulonimbus and dark stratocumulous appearing from wispy cirrus and nebulous nimbostratus. Before we knew it, we were caught in winds stronger than anything we’d tried flying in before. And this time, there was no possible escape— if we lost control of our gliders, we would fall into the ocean, into the merciful hands of the waves, and drown.”

“Rain followed quickly after the wind. It lashed against anywhere our skin was exposed, cold and stinging. I could barely see Roku, and we were flying as close together as we could without our flight-panels colliding. I had no idea what to do. Neither did Roku. The wind lifted us higher into the sky.”

  
  
“For the longest time, all we could do was hold on.”

“That’s when I came up with an idea. It was a crazy idea, and there were no guarantees that it would even work, but what else could we do? So I shouted my plan to Roku, trying to quiet the roaring wind so that he could hear me.”

  
  
“Now, Aang, before I tell you how we broke free of the storm, I want you to make me a promise.” Aang nods, eager to hear the rest of the story.

“Promise me that you won’t attempt this maneuver, unless you’re trapped in a life-or-death situation like we were.” Gyatso’s eyes are intent on Aang, and Aang nods again.

“I promise,” he whispers. Gyatso smiles, and leans back, stroking his mustache contemplatively.

“Now… where was I? _Ah_ —yes, we were spiraling through the storm, barely able to hold on to our gliders, afraid to let go, lest we drown in the angry waters below.”

“My plan was to take the two gliders, and fold the panels of one in. With double the weight on one glider, we’d stop being buffeted around by the winds, and be able to at least make progress toward the edge of the cloud.”

“And just like that, gliders pinned between us, we dove and dove, and then finally burst out of the stormcloud. We were too far away from the temple to attempt to return, and we were losing height quickly. There was only one speck of land on the horizon. A small island, with what looked like a small town on the far side. Roku and I looked at each other, and came to an agreement: we were going to try to land there.”

“Hang on—I didn’t know there was an island nearby,” Aang says, broken free of the story’s spell.

Gyatso reaches up and fiddles with the end of his mustache, rolling it between his fingers. His eyes aren’t really focused on anything, and Aang doesn’t understand why he looks so sad.

“You didn’t know because the island isn’t there anymore, Aang.” Aang frowns.

  
  
“But it’s an _island_. How can it not be there anymore? Islands don’t _move._ ” Gyatso laughs. It’s bitter and nothing like his normal laughter.

  
  
“Islands don’t move, you’re right. But they can sink—”Gyatso answers, before cutting himself off, “-and let’s finish _this_ story before we start another.”

  
  
“Okay, but promise you’ll tell me what happened to the island after?” Aang asks.

  
  
“I promise.” 

Gyatso has that look on his face that some of the other teachers get when they promise something they don’t really want to promise, and are secretly hoping Aang will forget the promise after they make it. 

He’s never seen that look on Gyatso before. 

Gyatso clears his throat, and continues the story, but the sad look lingers in his eyes.

“As I was saying, we didn’t glide so much as _crash_ into the island. The panels on our gliders had been shredded completely by the landing, so we were stranded in a strange place, without any way of getting home. Luckily, neither of us were badly hurt. The worst injury that either of us received was a large bruise, though the location of it was rather unfortunate. There was only one thing that we could do—start walking.”

“So we did.”

“The forest was dark and swampy, full of all sorts of insects that wanted to take a bite out of us. It was handy that Roku was a firebender, as he was able to create a little smokescreen, keeping the worst of the bugs away-”

“ _Gyatso_ -” Aang interrupts. He’d normally never even think about doing that but- “You said Roku was an _airbender_ . He couldn’t have been a _firebender too_ , only the Avatar can bend more than one element.” Gyatso chuckles, and the last of the hollow look on his face from Aang asking about the island fades away.

“You are right of course, only the Avatar can bend more than one element, “ Aang could have sworn that Gyatso winked at him just then, but he’s not completely sure. Gyatso clears his throat, and keeps going.

“However we managed to do it, we got through the forest with only a few bites, and before we knew it, we were in front of a town. The town looked as though it had seen better days, but it felt cheery and warm.”

“Roku and I split up to try to find a way to get our gliders patched up. Neither of us had money or something to barter for the supplies with, so it was going to be difficult. I wasn’t able to find anything. Roku didn’t either, but what he found was more important.”

“Apparently the island that we’d crash-landed on was very prone to earthquakes, and they’d had one not long before we landed. Perhaps it had even happened while we were still trying to escape the storm, but I can’t say for certain. This island was also a dormant volcano, one that had been so dormant and stable, that people had built right in the caldera, since it was a lovely lake surrounded by rich and fertile soil. When the earthquake had hit, it reawakened the volcano.”

“While Roku and I had been separated, he’d met someone who lived in the caldera who had been coming into the village for help. There was lava pouring from vents that had been sealed for generations, and there was a family trapped on one of the paths. Roku had immediately agreed to help, and doubled back to find me.”

“And so the two of us set off down the path toward the volcano, hoping that we weren’t too late...” Aang yawns, and blinks tiredly. He’s trying to pay attention to the story, the story is starting to get _good_ … but he’s just so very _tired_ all of a sudden… so _sleepy_ …

* * *

That night Aang has a strange dream. It starts with him closing his eyes, in his own bed, while he watches from across the room like a stranger. Gyatso is still talking, but it sounds garbled, like he’s underwater. Then he looks down at Aang and smiles, before reaching out to take the candle from the side of the bed.

“Goodnight, Aang,” he says, and smooths the covers down one last time, before turning to leave the room. Aang can hear him clearly this time.

Then Aang is suddenly no longer floating across the room, but instead looking into blackness, before he opens his eyes. 

He’s in his bed, and it feels like he’s awake, but at the same time he must still be dreaming, because it feels like there’s someone else in here with him. That never happens while he’s awake.

Aang opens his mouth to speak.

“You know, I’m pretty sure the story didn’t go like that.” The words don’t belong to him, and neither does the voice, a deep, rich, and rounded tenor that crackles with age. It’s _nothing at all_ like Aang’s own voice, and he’s not even sure how a voice like that could come out of his body. As he floats there, disconnected from his own body, Aang feels a strange surge of triumph when Gyatso stiffens across the room. ‘

Aang’s not sure the triumph belongs to him either. 

His mentor stands frozen in the open arch of the doorway. When he hears the voice he turns, ever so slowly, back towards Aang. His hands are trembling at his sides, and he seems surprised to see Aang, like he’d been expecting someone else.

“Roku?” Gyatso asks incredulously. 

Roku— and wasn’t that the name of Gyatso’s friend in his story? Aang doesn’t know what’s going on, and he’s getting a little scared, before a lull of calm washes over him. Roku won’t hurt him— doesn’t answer Gyatso directly.

  
  
“Nor, if I recall correctly, did the story have that ending. That was _quite_ unconventional, as far as endings go. Much more like the beginning to a new adventure than anything else,” Roku continues. Gyatso swallows, and crosses the room, back to the side of Aang’s bed. He doesn’t look like he notices he’s moving.

“We’re no strangers to unconventional endings though, are we, Gyatso?”

Gyatso drops back into the chair with his eyes closed. His head tilts up a little, and it seems like he’s addressing the space above Aang’s head.

“No, we certainly aren’t.”

“You didn’t have to do this, you know. Perhaps this is a dead man’s arrogance talking, but I never asked this of you,” Roku says quietly, and his words are tinged with sadness.

“No you didn’t ask me, but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t have to. And while there is a part of me that watches over him in your memory, Roku, understand that I do it for Aang himself too. I love the boy for who he is, for _himself_ , Roku. _Never_ doubt that.” Gyatso begins, more than a little anger in his tone.

“I wasn't trying to imply- I am _beyond_ grateful that it’s you, that you’re here for him while he needs you, Gyatso. The way that you were there for me, when I needed you. I know you will be able to give him the childhood he deserves,” Roku says.

Gyatso doesn’t respond for a moment.

“You always said that you wished you’d had a longer childhood, that being at the temple was one of the first times you’d felt free since starting your Avatar training.”

“I hoped that Aang could have that— he has none of the _other_ pressures you had, and it seemed like I could give him a good childhood. But the Elders don’t think we can afford to let Aang have that— there are angry echoes in the world, and they’ve already started pushing him as far and fast as he can go. They’re afraid for the world. And so am I, but Aang is a part of the world, and I cannot-” Gyatso stops, takes a deep breath and starts again.

  
  
“I met you after you’d broken under the weight of your duty as Avatar. I can’t let the same thing happen to Aang. I can’t _watch_ the same thing happen to Aang, not when I have this chance to stop it.”

There’s a pause, and then Gyatso sighs heavily.

“But even though I have _tried_ to be there as much as I can, I can’t help feeling as though I have already failed,” he says, defeated.

There’s a swirl of white, and then Aang isn’t in his bed any longer. Neither is his body. Instead an old Fire Nation man, one about Gyatso’s age, floats where his body used to be. 

The man doesn’t look real. 

His colors are washed and faded, like a portrait that has been bleached by moonlight. He fades around the edges, when Aang tries to focus on him. Looking at the man for too long hurts Aang’s eyes, like they’re working so hard to fill in gaps, and make the man look like he belongs to their reality.

Gyatso’s eyes are still closed. If anything, they are closed more tightly than before the old man appeared. The strange man sighs.  
  


“You haven’t failed. Not at all.” Roku stops—because that _has_ to be the identity of the strange old man—having realized something. “ _Ah_. You’re worried about the dreams…”

“I had never heard of someone waking from a dream _screaming_ in pain before. Not until it started happening to my ward. Forgive me for my concern,” Gyatso replies dryly, and he still hasn’t opened his eyes.

“We’ve been friends a very long time, Gyatso. You know as well as I, that time means less than nothing to Avatars. And while you weren’t around for this, I can assure you, it did happen to me as well. It terrified my parents at the time, because the idea that there are some things so painful that the body remembers echoes of them, though they haven’t even happened yet, and that those things will be happening to _your son_ — it’s not an easy thing to accept.”

Gyatso swallows, and there’s a stark look of grief on his face. Aang can’t move again. It’s not as scary as his last dream, but there’s nothing that he wants more in this moment than to give Gyatso a hug, and it’s frustrating that he can’t.

“I think that perhaps, the harder thing to accept is that I will not be there to protect him from it.”

There is a moment of silence between the two men. Finally, something in the room changes, like the air-pressure giving way as you travel up into the clouds.

“We’re out of time again, aren’t we?” Gyatso asks, though it’s clear to everyone in the room— even Aang— that he already knew the answer. Roku doesn’t answer him. He doesn’t need to.

“Take care, old friend,” Roku says instead, and then the misty white figure fades away, and Aang is relegated once again to simply floating in empty space across the room, watching as his body lies down and closes its eyes once again.

“You’re right about one thing, old friend,” Gyatso takes a deep breath, finally opening his eyes. Aang notices the glimmer of tears in the corner of his eye. “We were never strangers to unconventional endings. But out of all the unconventional endings in the world, I never could have imagined this one.”

Then everything fades to mist.

* * *

When the morning comes, the sky is clear and the storm is gone. The dawn light burns away the echoes of terror from the night before. Everything is new and fresh, the smell of ozone and lightning washed away by the rain.

Aang can’t remember either of his dreams when he wakes up.

**Author's Note:**

> Pun title is not the best, but it'll work.
> 
> My conversion to a Roku stan is complete. He's pretty garbage, but he's the garbage that you fish out of the dumpster so that you can take it home and refurbish it. He's garbage that could easily be converted to art, if only given some careful love and attention. We've already seen his biggest regrets-- but what lead him there? Why do I want to know??
> 
> Tbh feel kinda bad for Gyatso here. There's nothing like trying to move on from your grief only for your dead best-friend to drop in and harrass you through your pseudo-son.
> 
> Scream at me through the comments, or on tumblr @[justoceanmyth](https://justoceanmyth.tumblr.com/)


End file.
